I rarely reach over and actually pull one off of the shelf, and I have never opened one to read.

However, I have to say, the horrible photographs and smut do grab my attention for a second.

Especially if there is some kind of horrific photo of a celeb caught off guard, wearing a bikini, with cottage cheese and bat wings all hanging out and flappin’ in the wind.

And if there’s a celebrity mom who recently gave birth on the cover, I silently pray the person in line before me has coupons and needs a price check so I can do a double take.

I mean I need some reassurance that I’m not the only one with a lumpy ass, some extra skin…

…or an extra 10 pounds they can’t seem to shake.

I know I don’t have personal trainers, a plastic surgeon, or even the energy to think about working out. But this time around, I cannot help but feel just plain old.

By this time after my first pregnancy, I was already back into my size 4 jeans.

This time? Not so much. Even though I gained significantly less weight.

My body feels more tired and my joints more achy than they did last time.

You know you’re getting old when everyone at the “New mom support group” is younger than you.

You know you’re getting old when your daughter points out the ‘freckles’ on your hands, but you realize they’re really just age spots.

You know you’re getting old when the only cast member from GLEE older than you is Sue Sylvester.

I totally need my own Madonna video remake.

(7 weeks postpartum)

Like a high school girl dating a new guy, I was weak.

On March 21st, my world suddenly shifted off of it’s axis and began revolving around my new baby girl.  Flowers were suddenly in bloom.  Birds sat perched outside my window, serenading a beautiful tune. And my heart yearned to spend every waking (and half-waking) moment with my baby.  Holding her.  Loving her.

Once she came into my life, everything became a pink and lavender haze.  Her feedings, breast pumps, Babisodes’ adjustment, laundry, meals, preschool- all of these were suddenly thrown in my direction to juggle daily.  As a result, my relationships with friends and family were unintentionally tossed aside.

Subconsciously, I put blinders on, allowing me to focus.

Forward.  Ahead.

It is the only direction I’ve seen in the last month. Particularly since everything appears to move in fast-forward.  Hours turn into seconds. What’s for lunch? Do we have clean laundry for tomorrow?

Despite how idle it has been on this blog, behind the scenes, I have been fully engaged in motherhood.  But not a day goes by where I don’t wish I had the time to document all of the ordinary things going on right now that I know will make me smile in a few years.  I reminisce about the time when I could capture my life through words on this blog. When this blog, and all of you, were my shoulders to cry on, my buddies to laugh with, confidants to seek advice from.

But I’ve been distracted.

Every morning, the baby’s tiny tucked body fills my arms more, widening my embrace.  In her new role as ‘big sister’, Babisodes has begun to demand more autonomy each day, even though it is unwarranted.

In a blink of an eye, over a month has slipped away.  And as I take a moment to pause, I realize I have reached that transitional point in any relationship when the honeymoon phase has passed.   The point where I am so sleep deprived, I could pack a much needed vacation’s worth of luggage into the bags beneath my eyes; when the baby’s sweet smell is really just sour milk and vomit; when those damn birds outside need to shut the hell up because it’s 4 o’clock in the morning.

When reality sets in and the world of pink and lavender suddenly transforms to an uneasy shade of ‘holy crap-I-actually-have-two-kids’.

The point where I wish I had an old friend to chat with, or a place to retreat, so I could just complete a thought.

A friend like you.  A place just like this.

My closest friends in life are the ones who have been able to pick up right where we left off, no matter how much time passes between phone calls, emails or visits.  They are the ones who have stood the test of time.

I would love to consider you one of them.

Because I have so much I want to tell you.

Check out Beth Miga’s photography blog post for more delicious photos of Babisodes 2.0… or Bittysodes…or Youngersodes.   I cannot thank her enough for her amazing photography skills.   If you are anywhere near the Boston area, you should definitely consider her to photograph you and/or your wee ones.  She is awesome.

Can you tell I still have yet to settle on a name for the baby?  HALP!

Dadisodes: Oh honey. That is not a nice thing to ask.  See, mommy’s belly is smaller than it was when your baby sister was inside, right?

Me:  *sobs*

(Postpartum day 9)

I know that not even two weeks have passed since I gave birth, but I don’t remember being this “poochy” after having Babisodes.

My guess is a new insatiable, breast-feeding hunger will be of no help either.

Anyhow, I am finally home. Actually, I have been home from the hospital for several days now. I’ve just been lamenting my departure.  You know?  Clean linens. Hot food and beverages served 3 times a day.  All done for me by the hospital staff.

*sigh*

It’s the closest thing to resort living I’ll ever have.

The baby and I came home just in time for the monsoon that took over New England this week.  Just in time for our basement and roof to drip water.  And just in time for Babisodes to spike a high fever and catch a cold.

The upgrade from one kid to two is already proving to be quite an adventure.

I promise to post something cohesive one day.

Perhaps when my sleep deprived mind can manage to string together a full sentence, or when my boobs don’t turn into leaky faucets at the thought of the baby.

I totally forgot how far breast milk travels.

Same goes for poop.

You’re welcome for not posting pics.

From full bars to none, in the last nine months I feel as if I’ve exhausted my energy trying to get by.  I gaze outside, searching for something recognizable, a connection that will lead me to a familiar place.  Like a freeway off-ramp to a different town, but must surely be the one that leads you to where you want to go.

Or so it seems.

Back in July, I somehow tested positive on a pregnancy test after a final round of Clomid.

After a year of trying to conceive, endless medical tests, and medication side effects, I had had little hope that month.  But a stroke of luck proved me wrong.

I never imagined this path would be straight or evenly paved.   Especially since this is not my first time down this road.  Albeit 5 years since my last pregnancy, I figured I would recognize, perhaps even anticipate, some of the twists and turns along the way.

The lack of morning sickness, carrying low, a lower fetal heart rate, all pointed in the direction of a boy.  All unfamiliar from when I had my girl.

Alas, I was wrong again.  The sonographer saw a taco, not a hot dog.

As early as 18 weeks pregnant, I already began having contractions.  None of them strong or too alarming, but contractions nonetheless.  In my previous pregnancy I began preterm labor at 25 weeks and was placed on bed rest until I gave birth at 38 weeks.

This time around, due to the earlier contractions, I had high hopes that this baby would be our first sign of spring after a long, bizarre weathered winter.

But today, at 39 weeks pregnant, there is still little indication of this baby vacating the premises anytime soon.  Birthing Babisodes at 38 weeks was incredibly difficult due to her size, and I worry that if this child cooks for much longer, they may need to go in and get her.

I feel as if I’ve driven past the right exit-ramp a dozen times now, but every time, a barricade is blocking the path.

Perhaps this little one takes after me and wants to make sure all signs of winter are gone before making her exit.  Or maybe she lost her GPS signal as well.

Either way, I hope this detour isn’t much longer.

I washed and put away most of our winter gear today.  Just in case.

The ones Dadisodes thought would be a great business trip gift for Babisodes in lieu of a stuffed animal.

Yes, my husband thought that having ladybug maggots inside our house would be a good idea.

Anyhow, when he purchased the ladybug habitat we had to request for the live larvae to be sent to our house when we were ready.  Wouldn’t want bugs to die or anything.

Unfortunately, the ordering process required us to provide our address.  Which apparently placed us on their mailing list.

So we can purchase more maggots, larvae, pupa, etc….

Or other disgusting insects.

I mean, it’s almost Spring for crying out loud.

We can get all of this stuff outside soon.

For free.

Did I mention outside?